Second Look: A Victorian Romance
by kuvli
Summary: Syd Richman returned home with the desire to hurt a fragile orphan girl named Rosema whom his family adored as their own. What he does not know is that his face looked just like her first love.
1. Chapter 1: Family Reunion

Chapter One

Family Reunion

The news of the Richman sons returning to Paris excited the sedulous maids and servitors of the manor, Soave Maine. Though the old master and his wife were absent for more than six months, it was the names of their sons that famed the hearth of the sumptuous Richman. Childhood tales of the two were recalled by the blathering maids. Some broke into tears while some jittered into laughter.

When the jolly, plump Mrs. Abbot announced the arrival of the Richmans, everyone disappeared into the lower level of the manor. Only she remained, catching her breath when she sighted a slender figure beside the delicate magenta curtains of the hallway's window. She gasped for more air and approached the unaware lass. "The masters' arrival had driven everyone mad! And here you are, still as a statue! If they are to learn of your dealings, they will be very disappointed in their favorite girl."

The young lady in kahlua turned to face Mrs. Abbot with an armful of draperies. "I am more provoke to hear your tales you promised to share, Mrs. Abbot." Then she smiled sweetly to calm the old lady's heart.

"Oh, Rosema," Mrs. Abbot pulled her by the arm. "I will tell you a good story after you greet the masters well." She removed the draperies from the young lass and placed it with the nearby laundries. The old lady returned a bitter smile and brushed away Rosema's fallen strands of brunette hair. "So young and innocent." She sighed and led the way down the stairs. "I wish our young master Syd had grown into a man of your heart."

"….I learned a little from Darold's stories about young master Syd," Rosema began. "But, is he really…fearsome?"

Mrs. Abbot gave a boorish chuckle . "It depends on rather if you understand that hot-blooded child or not….But, I never thought of him as fearsome….He's just…Difficult….Though I must warn you beforehand." Mrs. Abbot stopped Rosema abruptly. "Behave yourself and try not to anger that boy. He may send the devil after you if there's no gentleman in him." With the familiar bitter smile, the plump woman departed from the tranquil lass. She remained there for a few seconds, lost in her thoughts until everyone signaled the entrance of the masters. She hurriedly joined the maids as the butler, Mr. Akins, unclasped the orchid French door.

It was old master Mr. Richman and his wife who appeared first, followed by their youngest son, Darold, whose arm entwined an unbeknown woman. As the servitors bowed and maids curtsied, they couldn't help, but be captivated by the foreign lady who claimed Darold's left arm.

Her arrival delighted everyone and of course, fascinated them with her baffling charm. Rosema, too, admired her glamour and was thrilled to see Darold smiling sincerely beside her. She found herself more eager than expected to converse with Darold's handsome lover.

Everyone were astonished by the two young lovers as Darold guided her down the steps, but it was the silvery brown-haired lad that hesitantly entered last that weakened Rosema's excitement. She heard the sounds in the room muted into nothing, but the echo of his silence footsteps. His thin and pale face became the only thing she can see. Her pupils shook in disbelief as the tall lad poised her entire body. Her eyes followed his every movement and finally quavered, "L-Larick..?"

[I]"…Strange girl…..why are you here alone?" The vigorous boy stared at her from the flower bed as a little girl tried to hide her tears. "There's crawlers and garden snakes around. You shan't be here unattended. Your parents will be awfully worry…..Or is the master of this place your father?" she hesitated to answer, but managed to say no and apologized for causing an uproar.

"Uproar? Says who?" he returned, standing up to reveal his dirt-covered garments and bare feet. Too ashamed of being discovered of crying, the little girl apologized once more only to find golden petals barring her view of the dirty little boy. "For you, strange girl… In return, please don't weep so often….Big boys like me," he pointed his thumb to his jutted chest. "don't enjoy seeing girls cry…" he quickly pressed the flower stems into her palm and grinned. "…I must go now before Father scold me again…. Please keep my visit here a secret."[/I]

"Rosema!" the poor lass woke up from her daydream when the joyous Darold gathered her into a big, brotherly hug. "I am so glad to see you, yet what troubled you so? You're so pale!" she chuckled and curtsied.

"Welcome home, Darold, Mr. and Mrs. Richman." her eyes met the foreign girl as she returned a friendly smile. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Angeline Walter."

"And Miss Rosema," they exchanged a curtsy. "Darold spoke of you so often that I imagined how it feels to see you in flesh . Now, I really can't explain how I feel!" Surprised at how childish the lass acted, Rosema smiled, not really sure how to converse such subject.

"How many times had I told you not to clean, Rosema?" Mrs. Richman interrupted. "Those filthy clothes does not suit you and in the presence of Miss Angeline?" Rosema stuttered to apologize. "Mrs. Abbot, take this young lady upstairs to change."

"But Mother!" Darold cried. "You said Rosema can do anything she-"

"Anything, but that. As a proper mistress of Soave Maine, I disapprove. Rosema," Mrs. Richman turned toward Rosema. "If you disobey me again, I will forbid you from going to the garden again." Rosema looked down at her shoes and nodded in understanding. Mrs. Richman sighed and excused herself.

"Cheer up! Mrs. Richman's only worried about your health, that's all," Angeline averred. "Isn't it, Darold?" He agreed immediately, but was suddenly struck as he searched the room.

"Where is Syd?" he exclaimed. "I told him on the way here to introduce himself to Rosema as soon as we arrive. Syd? Syd!"

Rosema closed her eyes and became lost again in her thoughts. "I must've had another imagination…. It cannot be Lar-" She opened her eyes only to find herself losing her breath completely. Her heart pounded louder and heavier and her mind completely dimmed by the long thin face staring at her. She was finally convinced that she wasn't imagining. The man before her possessed the same familiar face and as she shouted for Larick in her mind, she began searching for the warm brown eyes that had always robbed her. However, when a pair of cerulean gray eyes greeted her with the strangest look as he raised his thick eyebrow, she pulled back in fear.

Her heart began racing faster as her eyes widened and realized that she did not recognize this man. She quickly curtsied to cover up for her odd behavior.

"W-w-w-wel-" Rosema lost her words and could not speak properly.

"Rosema, this is Syd Richman, my older brother," Darold grinned. "The eldest Richman son that haven't return for 15 years…At last, both of you finally meet. Rosema, what do you think? Handsome isn't he? Well, maybe not as handsome as me, but handsome right?"

Too afraid to look up, Rosema remained silent. Her body continued shaking. "What's wrong? Are you cold?" Angeline asked, rubbing her shoulders. Surprised by her sudden touch, she looked up to apologize, but was again seized by Syd's cold stare. She quickly broke away and found Mrs. Abbot holding her back.

"I'm sorry to intrude young ones, but I must take Rosema upstairs now. Mrs. Richman demand I do so before you further your reunion. C'mon Rosema."

Rosema excused herself and followed Mrs. Abbot upstairs. She hurriedly walked toward her bedchamber while Mrs. Abbot continued blabbering and searching through her closet. As she sat at the foot of her bed, the unexplainable feeling remained. She clutched her quivering body tightly, trying to calm herself down. Her mind ran wild, unable to think until a sudden sound shattered the happy resonance of the manor. Her fear suddenly disappeared as she realized that something horrible had happened downstairs. Rosema scurried out to find a motionless Darold by the bottom of the stairs and a wooden arm lying down on the marble floor.

Her heart wrenched upon seeing Darold's right arm sleeve empty. She went numb when Darold screamed and refused the approaching Angeline. "Please, d-don't touch me!" Darold exclaimed and ran out of the door.

Everyone remained speechless. When she suddenly recollected herself, Rosema ran down the stairs only to be stopped by Mr. Richman.

"Let him be….It will only worsen if you speak to him now." Rosema gulped and watched the empty doorway. Needles began to stab through her heart when she saw Angeline retrieving the wooden arm and silently crying. The surrounding maids muttered caressing words and led Angeline to her chamber. She heard Mr. Richman repeat again, "Let him be," and left without saying more to her.

When dinnertime arrived and Rosema escorted herself to the dining room, she found Angeline fixed at the top of the stairs, staring at the very spot that Darold had stood. Her face went pale upon seeing Rosema and couldn't face her anymore. Afraid to hurt Angeline, Rosema greeted her casually and asked her to come along with her.

"….Rosema," she finally spoke. "….the woman that Darold adored…and the woman he looked up to as if she's his very own sister….." Angeline turned to look at Rosema with tears already piling at the corner of her eyes. "Tell me….What exactly did you do on that day?

Upon hearing this, Rosema clutched her dress as guilt crawled back into her body. Through the hallway's window, the setting sun beamed its light against Rosema's and Angeline's face. "…..I-It was all my fault…." Rosema returned after a moment of Angeline weeping. "….If it wasn't for me…..Nothing like this would have ever happen…"

"….I just don't understand!" Angeline shouted. "It shouldn't have been him! It shouldn't have been him!" Angeline broke down and cried as Rosema remained still, knowing already that she was in no place to comfort a person that she hurt. She already knew that nothing she do can ever change what she had done.

When everyone were seated at the dinner table, there was but no mention of what happened earlier. Darold returned to himself, however, ignoring Angeline. She too, did not say a word until Mrs. Richman bluntly asked her if she'd already decided on her wedding dress.

"Wedding dress?" Angeline repeated . "Mrs. Richman…..I don't think I'm ready to discuss this subject-."

"That's right," Darold cut her off coldly. "Mother, if you haven't realize it yet, Miss Angeline Mckean here will never marry a person like me. A person who's missing an arm."

"Darold!" her mother shrieked. "Will you mind your words?"

Mrs. Richman, you're not acting like the lady of this manor when screaming at your son like that," Mr. Richman said calmly.

"And how can you act so heartless toward your son?" she returned. "I speak because I care for him!"

Hurt by Darold's words, Angeline walked hurriedly out of the dining room. Moments of listening to his parents quarreling, Darold muttered angrily to himself and left the room as well. Both continued arguing and stormed out, not even finish with dinner. Their voices remained in the room, however, as Rosema listened to them, sitting and not realizing that all of them had left until a single drop of a spoon seized her unawareness. Her eyes ran wild and her blood stopped running upon seeing the tall lad standing across the table. He leaned forward, pressing his palms against the table and stared straight into her eyes.

"What should I call you?" he questioned with a husky voice, grabbing her knife and twirling it into the potato salad in her plate. Rosema pushed her chair aback and stood up, realizing that she was alone with the man she had already forgotten about after the incident. He stopped twirling her knife and sneered at the trembling lass.

"…R-R-Rosema…." she managed to said. "I-I-I-I'm s-so-rry." she headed toward the door, but was stopped by his outstretched arm pressing against the wall. She felt him breathe into the nape of her neck and hearing him uttering lowly.

"I meant….What should I call someone who made herself a queen? A murderer." her eyes widened and pulled herself away from his distant, but he grabbed her wrist and dug his nails into her skin. Rosema let out a cry.

"Pl-please M-Mr. S-S-Syd!" she begged, but his nails dug even deeper and his eyes became crueler.

"You calling me by my name? A fraud and a despicable fiend like you does not deserve to call my name!" Too scared of his violence, Rosema ripped herself from his grasp and as fast as she could, ran out to her bedchamber.

Slamming and latching the doorknob, Rosema slumped against her door, heaving heavily. She squeezed her eyes, trying very hard yet her tears seeped and streamed slowly from her terrified eyes. She broke into a heavy sob and hugged her trembling knees. Her wrist continued bleeding, staining her dress as she crouched against her door. As the night grew, her crying silenced into sleep.

"What's wrong?" Rosema heard a familiar voice asked in the darkness. She rose from the cold floor and searched the sheets of blackness. "Why are you crying? I've already told you…Not to cry anymore…"

She squinted her eyes and finally a man's body became visible. Her heart leap as she scrambled toward him.

"L-Larick!" she shouted and ran toward the man standing in the dark. "Is it really you?"

"….I told you…" he repeated, drifting even farther from the running Rosema. "…If you cry…..You'll make me sad…"

"Larick!" she shouted after the disappearing body.

Rosema's eyes shot open to the cold morning and stamping outside her door. She gazed at the floor she slept upon and suddenly, pounding against her door became louder.

"Rosema? Are you awake?" Mrs. Abbot shouted. "Please wake up. Miss Angeline is missing. We can't find her anywhere!"


	2. Chapter 2: Reconciliation

Chapter Two

Reconciliation

On the second day of the return of the Richmans, panic filled the air. Some were sent to look for Miss Angeline McKean in the acres behind the manor while others were sent into town to look for her. While most were out of the manor, Mrs. Richman spent her time, walking back and forth in front of Darold's bedchamber. She wept, shouted, and banged at the firmly closed door, begging for her son to unlock the door.

After two hours of echoing the manor with her pounding, Darold coldly told his mother to leave him alone. She cried harder. "But I am your mother, Darold. Miss Angeline is gone and here you are, locked in a room alone. Come out and let your mother know that you're all right."

He did not answer her of course. His mother listened for a moment and continued banging at his door.

Shortly after, Mr. Richman appeared, but instead of condemning her, he watched her as she returned a distressful face. Her tears became fuller upon seeing her dear husband watching her suffer. She let out a sorrowful cry and found Mr. Richman embracing her softly.

His sudden touch faintly relieved her from going insane as he drew her away from the door. He uttered for his dear wife to give their son some times. Mrs. Richman hesitated and called for Darold again. He hurriedly shushed her.

"Darold," Mr. Richman called when Mrs. Richman cried into his chest. "Listen well. If Miss Angeline does not come back by nightfall, I'm going to send news to the officers and her family in Boston. I advise you to come out and look for her as well before things get worse."

"Mr. and Mrs. Richman!" Mrs. Abbot called from downstairs. "We've found her!" Pleased to hear such great news, Mr. Richman lead his wife downstairs.

"Where did you find her?" the master asked.

"Mr. Akins said that he found her sitting at the bridge 8 miles west from here," Mrs. Abbot explained. "She claimed she was just taking her morning walk, but she was holding her luggage as if she's leaving here without a word."

"Where is she now?" Mrs. Richman cried and Mrs. Abbot quickly told her that Miss Angeline is waiting in the sitting room. She did not hesitate, but ran toward the room Miss Angeline awaited.

When she did laid her eyes upon the young lady sitting with her hands knotted together and uneasiness conquering her, Mrs. Richman let out a cry and hugged the poor lady. Miss Angeline too, cried.

While both of them cried in the sitting room, Mr. Richman questioned Mrs. Abbot if everyone knew Miss Angeline came back safely. She answered that everyone went their own ways to find her and will probably not return until nightfall. He then asked her where Rosema could've been, but she did not know what exactly to answer.

Mr. Richman gazed at the window and then back at his wife and their guest. His gaze fell upon the white lilacs in the nearby flower vase.

It was four hours later when the women had calm down and several came back home. Dinner was already being prepare. Miss Angeline just finished taking a bath and exited her bedchamber when she noticed the next door had been slightly slinked open. She watched the door for a moment and decided to part away. She abruptly was stopped by someone holding onto her wrist. To her astonishment, the owner of the hand that beheld her was Darold himself.

"You're pale," she muttered.

"You were trying to leave without a word," Darold started. She did not answer immediately. Darold ran his finger through his fair hair nervously and rubbed his dark circles formed beneath his eyes. "…. I will get you on the ship back to Boston soon…. Please don't do such a ridiculous thing again."

"…..You really have no desire to see me?" Miss Angeline inquired.

"….If I didn't wish to see you, I wouldn't have brought you to Paris with me," Darold returned. Miss Angeline breath stopped upon hearing his kind words once again. Though it was only for a day, she felt that Darold had distant himself from her for a very long time. She wanted to speak, but there was something lurking inside her that prevented her from saying anything.

"There's something I must tell you," Darold resumed. "Something I must tell you to clarify that Rosema was not the one who caused me to lose my arm."

Miss Angeline stared at him in ouzzlement. "What are you trying to say?"

Darold returned a look of discomfort. "If I don't tell you now, you will never understand why I've acted like this ever since I lost my arm…. Once I tell you…. I hope you will decide if you're clear about loving a man like me."

"I fell in love with you and will never change," she stated firmly. "Whatever you need to tell me will not change the way I feel, now and forever."

Darold looked at her for a very long time and then held her hand. He came closer to her and kissed her pleasantly on the forehead. "I will tell you everything, but not here."

"Miss Angeline!" Rosema shouted once more before tripping over a rock and tumbled downhill. It was that sudden thump that regained her consciousness. She looked around and back, realizing how far away the garden was. It suddenly struck her that she had no other light to further her search in the dark beside the dim moonlight and stars. As she recovered herself and tried to walk back to Soave Maine, she felt a minor ache on her leg. It was at that moment when she looked down and noticed a bush of flowers already in bloom. Her eyes followed them. It was a trail of flower bushes; golden roses. They appeared big and neon in the dark. Though they were only simple, elegant flowers, Rosema was enthralled by them; perhaps hypnotized.

Her heart raced with an unexplainable beat as she followed the trail deeper and farther away from the way back to Soave Maine.

She thought she heard Larick's voice ringing in her ears that made her raised her head several times to search the empty spaces. "My father forbid me to trespass someone's property," she heard Larick's voice replayed in her head. "He said it is a crime; why yes it is. If a man of my rank is found in a place like this, he will be dead!" Rosema touched the falling petal of one of the flower as she continued following the trail. "Do you possibly think I should stop coming here? I know! I will make a path for you! If you are ever able to go pass the garden or somehow lost your way, the marks will lead you to me!"

She stopped where the last bush was planted. It stopped at a point of nowhere, probably unfinished. Her mind wondered again whether she was imagining the words or was it really Larick speaking to her. "I'm here…." she uttered under her breath, convinced that the trail was made by Larick. "….Where are you?" She expected no answer and kept her eyes on the roses. She stroked the golden petals and then the young leaves.

It was just her and the yellow roses; her speaking to them with an unknown language and the touch that not even thorns could pierce. But, it wasn't until she felt something behind her. A weight hoarded over her and cold fingers wrapping around her small wrist. The hand pulled her and slammed her against the nearby tree.

Everything happened so fast that she did not have a second to think of fear until she was greeted by a malicious smirk and gray eyes that flickered in the dark.

She pulled back, recognizing the tall figure before her. However, she was once again caged between his arm. She pushed him with all her might, but resulted being held keenly by the neck. She gasped for air, to breathe, but failed. The sound of his boisterous laughter tolled from her ears and then conquering every inch of her body. She could not move as he lowered his face toward her and tightened his grip around her neck.

"Ah," he goaded. "Am I not fortunate to find the most hated fiend alone in a bare place like here?" He laughed malevolently. His cold fingers stiffened around her neck, pushing her upward against the tree. "Bloody, you really amuse me… Tonight…. I will murder you in a slow and painful way that you wish you had never ever live."

Her breathing became smaller and her body became weaker as she was once again crushed into the tree, breaking off the barks with her back. For a moment when she saw the face of the man strangling her, a familiar guilt suddenly came back to her. She no longer feel the suffocating pain, but a throbbing sting through her chest.

It wasn't because she knew who the man was, but it was because maybe it was Larick who's killing her. Suddenly, Rosema no longer saw the silvery brown hair nor the cold gray eyes, but long black hair and a pair of brown eyes watching her. His colorless lips stretched into a smile.

"Are you afraid to die?" the deep voice broke her vision of Larick and revealed that the man before her was Syd Richman. She stared at him, tracing his long thin face. Finally, she met his eyes and stared at them, forgetting the fear they usually bring when she look into them.

At last, she closed her eyes and remained still, waiting for her last breath. She was contented that she will die tonight , but was somehow disappointed that she will die with unfinished duties for the Richmans and a debt that she vowed to pay with her life. A debt that she should pay off by also protecting the broken Darold and reuniting the sweet innocent love between Darold and Angeline McKean.

Rosema coughed one last time. She no longer feel the suffocation nor the pain in her chest nor the cold hard fingers that wrapped around her neck. Her body began to drift in thin air and then her every senses became nothing, but a thick sheet of darkness.

"There's a child under the bridge, sir! Must we stop to help her?

"No. Just continue onto our destination."

"Husband, she's dying! We have to save her!"

" Oh Mrs. Richman, you're speaking as if you're so pure-hearted toward a mere child."

"I don't care what you think of me, but I'm going to save her."

"Fine, do as you please. I will not stop you. Mr. Akins, do as your lady ordered. We'll take that child to the nearby clinic."

"Rosema?" the voice echoed in her ears as she stirred from the light beaming onto her face. Her head felt heavier than ever as she tried to open her eyes. It was a blurry sight, but she managed to make out an image of Mrs. Richman. Then, it was Darold and Angeline.

"She's awake, Mother!" Darold exclaimed like an amateur child. "Rosema, Rosema, Rosem-"

"Quiet! She's still weak and your voice cause even greater damage!" Mrs. Richman returned. Darold nodded his head in understanding and lowered his voice. Then, he smiled down at Rosema.

Rosema groaned and tried to move her arm, but could not find the strength to do so. Everyone urged her to remained still and rest until she recovered.

"Where…..Am I?" Rosema questioned in confusion.

"You're safe now," Mrs. Richman returned with relief in her voice.

"How…." Rosema wanted to know when she felt that she had died. Suddenly, a heavy weight weighed upon her as she realized that she was still alive. At that very second, Rosema wanted to cry out of anger and despair, but the presence of Mrs. Richman in tears and a smiling Darold united with Miss Angeline McKean prevented her to do so.

"You were saved by Frey Hobley," Darold answered her. "He claimed that he was passing through the forest as a shortcut from his game of hunting and found you. If it wasn't for him, who knows what that menacing beast would've done to you fortnight ago."

"…Beast?" Rosema repeated and tried to recalled what happened.

"Exactly, Frey saved you before you were torn apart by that dreadful wolf," Darold glanced at Angeline. "If we weren't in the garden, Frey wouldn't be able to identify who you were….And we would've been worry sick if you've gone missing too."

Rosema closed her eyes again. Their voices continued conversing about Frey Hobley, thanking him for his heroic deeds and relieves that Rosema survived. However, they did not know that Rosema wished she had die that night and that the only thing she recalled now was his face haunting her and the sound of his laugh as he watched her die. She dare not say that he was there as well.

Rosema remained resting in her bedchamber for the next two days with the company of Angeline McKean. She was far more different than before as if something good happened to her. She became kinder toward Rosema in a very odd way. Rosema wasn't sure whether it was because her arm was severely injured and was almost shredded by a wolf that made Angeline regretted saying words of hatred toward her or was it because Rosema was partially disabled at the moment that she felt she must show kindness. Whichever was the reason, Rosema did not try to question her because she care little if Angeline hate or like her. She just wanted Angeline and Darold to return to their innocent love.

As if Angeline could read her motionless movements and her mind, she suddenly opened the window and sat there, watching Rosema. Poor girl did not know how to react to her incautious action to sit carelessly on an opened window two stories high. Before she could say anything, Angeline smiled cynically at her.

"…..I wished to take back my childish words I said to you earlier," she began. "I shouldn't judge you before I even get to know you, understand what kind of situation it really was…"

"….You don't have to apologize because I ridiculously got injured," Rosema glanced at her bandaged arm. "In fact….There's no reason for you to do so….."

"No!" Angeline McKean screeched and stood up from the window sill. "I introduced myself in the most inappropriate way by pointing finger at you. And I did not forced myself to apologize to you because you were almost kill…..I just wanted you to know…..That I don't dislike you…..And I wished we can reconcile for a friendlier term…."

Rosema remained speechless. Finally, she smiled bitterly. "…..I wished to be a companion of yours, Miss Angeline McKean." Recognizing the speech as a reconciliation, Angeline cheerfully jumped up and down and scrambled to hug Rosema tightly. Angeline began to cry and Rosema soon learned that she was childish and easily cry for anything. She began talking about the womanly matters of their friendship and soon lead to her accidentally revealed that Darold had proposed to her.

Surprised, Rosema insisted for her to be particular about it. She was reluctant to do so, asserting that Darold wanted it to be a secret until the upcoming ceremony. However, she simply slipped out that Darold proposed to her at the garden on the night that Rosema was attacked. Quickly, Angeline began talking about Frey Hobley.

"Enough, if I further more, Darold will be very mad at me for spilling out our secret. I say, we talk about Mr. Frey Hobley." Angeline smiled.

"I heard Mr. Frey Hobley will be at the upcoming ceremony when your arm is heal. I urged you to meet him. He's a gentleman of good look and good reputations. Darold said they were schoolmates when they were younger. Both of them were taught by the same tutor."

"….I should thank him formally," Rosema stated though she had no interest in getting personal with him according to Angeline's enhancement of his great features.

As Angeline continued talking about Frey Hobley, a carriage pulled by the front iron gates of Soave Maine. The passenger was immediately greeted by Mr. Akins as the door opened and a lofty lad of fine body structure stepped out of the carriage. He was a lad of red hair, slightly curling around his earlobes and twinkled his deep jaded eyes with a flirtatious sentiment as he kissed the summer air and treaded down from the steps.

"It is a pleasure to see you," Mr. Akins greeted and motioned for him to enter the gates. However, Frey remained standing at the gates and then smiled at him.

"I have not send words of my coming and I rather wait until the day of the party, but thank you for being kind toward my intrusion. However, I was just strolling nearby and thought I must hear words of the lass who got injured the other night."

"Do you not think it rude to appear and not say a word to your dear friend?" They heard Darold's voice and turned to find a smiling Darold behind them. Frey can only laugh as they shook hands and Mr. Akins left them to their conversation.

"I cannot find it rude if I came here uninvited," Frey studied the house before him. "This place have not change much since I last came here."

Darold followed his observations. "It haven't change much….I shall thank you again for saving Rosema. If you weren't there, who knows what would've happen to my big sister."

Frey turned to him with puzzlement. " Big Sister? I thought Syd is your only sibling? When have I not learn that you have an older sister?"

Darold chuckled. "I only addressed her as my sister because my mother desired a daughter…." he paused. "My parents tried adopting her into the family, but she refused. However, everyone still treat her as a Richman. Eh, why don't you come inside for a cup of tea?"

Frey studied the manor again and then pushed his silver spectacles upward. "I'm aware that Miss Rosema is still recovering. I desired to introduce myself in a manlier manner if you wouldn't mind."

Darold pulled back with a suspicious look and narrowed his eyes. "Are you afraid of my father?" Frey left out a laugh and immediately, Angeline peeked out the window and pulled back as fast as she can.

"Rosema!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Frey Hobley's at the front gate right now! You have to see him before he leaves!" Rosema remained tranquil, but was forcefully pulled out of bed toward the open window.

"W-wait!" Rosema protested, but it was already too late. As she looked down and found Frey looking straight into her eyes, her heart leapt. She felt herself panicked, wishing that he did not take it the wrong way to think that she wanted to peek at him. Quickly, she vanished as Angeline followed her. Upon Rosema disappearing from the window, Frey looked away and took off his spectacles from his nostril. He began cleaning the glasses and putting them back on.

"Darold, you have the most evil thoughts right now. I am afraid of your father, but it shouldn't be said in such a careless way on your own ground. But, I refused to come in only because I have not send words of my coming. I did not expect myself to come here either. But, I'm afraid I must leave now. If I stay any longer, the rest will discover my presence and will force me to stay longer than I wanted to."

Darold sighed. "As you wish. I will not force you stay against your wish. But, please remember to be here on the day of the ceremony. Everyone would be delighted to see you…. And you can introduce yourself properly to Rosema."

Frey slightly nodded in understanding and climbed up his carriage.

"One more thing," Darold walked toward the carriage. "My brother had return….. I ought you pay him a visit sometimes."

"Really?" Frey sounded surprise upon hearing Syd had return after 15 years. "What great news and you waited for me to depart to tell me this?"

Darold stared at Frey sternly. "He's not resting in the manor." Frey return a stern look.

"I see. I'm sure where I can find him as always. I will be sure to visit him." He gave another nod.

"Farewell, dear friend."

Darold waved him good bye and proceed toward the manor.

Inside the carriage, Frey ordered his carriage rider to take him home. As he sat and peered outside the window and found the reflection of the open window, he secretly broadened his lips into a smile.


	3. Chapter 3: Epithet

Chapter Three

Epithet

"Syd?" Darold knocked again on the wooden door of the deep-rooted cottage. "I….I wanted you to come to the house. It's been years now. Please forget about the past. Angeline will think it's odd if you do not lodge there with us. If you love me as your brother, please do as I say and come back."

Syd did not open the door, but returned a cruel laugh. "I only came back here because you asked me to, did you not?" Darold remained speechless. Angry, he furiously thrashed his fist against the door.

"Then, be at it!" Darold raged throwing his hands into the air. "I hated your stubbornness and everything about you disgrace the pride of this family! I wished for peace and not once had you give me that; not once had you try to understand your own brother! What hardship must I go through to carry your burden!"

"….. I did not ask you to amend my immoral deed." Darold grimaced upon hearing his ruthless words. Instead of continuing their argument, Darold darted away in fury. As always, he did not expect his brother to be humane in any ways. However, he stopped half way and rested his hand on his hip. He grunted and walked swiftly toward the carriage.

Darold returned with two fresh cotton blankets and pillows and stood again in front of the door. He inhaled for more air before placing the blankets onto the foot of the door.

"….I'm leaving you these blankets and pillows. You're a grown man now and should know how to take better care of yourself instead of sleeping on old rags….. I hope to see you at the ceremony."

When he heard the carriage pulled away, Syd remained in the dimmed room with only the light through the small creak of the window's curtains. He was sweating and was bandaged from the shoulder to his midsection. Then, he let out a groan of pain as the injury on his shoulder had already swollen bigger than it was before.

Three weeks after Rosema's injuries had lessened into minor pain, Darold insisted that they must go into town in search of an outfit for the upcoming ceremony. However, Rosema protested and told him to go alone with Angeline. He argued laughably, but in the end, gave in.

Darold left her and said they will find Rosema something while they're out. She smiled and waved goodbye.

As she watched them disappeared along with the carriage, Rosema waited for awhile. When she was certain that they had traveled a great distant, Rosema, too, left the house.

She was cautious when she walked away from the house and toward the garden. She loved the garden; everyone knew that and they knew that before autumn come, she would visit the garden more than usual. In spite of this, no one suspected that she would slip into town by herself.

She did visit the garden; that was one thing she did in order to gather two dozens of yellow daylilies before leaving the property of the Richman.

As she walked westward toward the public road, she was quite alert for Syd; too afraid that she might somehow encounter him. Her thoughts brought her sudden fear and she began running through the woods.

Her running continued without any hesitation although she merged into the public road safely. It was the image of him that made her afraid enough to think that if she did not run, she will never be far away from him.

Her heart beat heavily, remembering that frightful night of seeing him smiling at her viciously and his cold, hard fingers tightening around her small neck.

Her throat felt tighter as she tripped and fell onto the ground. Her eyes widened as she tried to gathered herself onto her knees. She stared at the crushed flowers, stunned. For a long time, she did not move nor did she realize her difficulty to breathe. Unexpectedly, her tears sprinkled onto the ruined flowers.

She promised herself not to cry, pretending that she had recovered completely and was perfectly fine. The truth is she wasn't. Since that night, the nightmare of him choking her to death repeated itself over and over again each night. Every time she broke away from that nightmare and awoke in cold sweats, it was his name and face that made her huddled in fear.

She was not afraid of death, but it was him that made her suddenly know fear. And at that very moment where she found herself alone again, she could not find the strength to call out for Larick. Instead, she let herself continued crying, knowing that she does not deserve to be save by anyone.

When everything became nothing but a loud blare in her ears, a sudden soft voice called her name. Rosema raised her eyes and was shocked to find a young, black hair boy in front of her. He was a scrawny young man who barely passed adolescence and long black hair that covered almost half his face.

She could not tell what face he was wearing; whether he was glad to see her or was he angry upon meeting her. But when he kneeled down and picked up her flowers, she was able to catch a glimpse of his azure eyes and his long eyelashes. He returned a stern stare as he held the flowers in his hands.

"It is great to see you again, Miss Rosema," he worded the words with a peculiar tone. "….I really appreciated that you cleaned my brother's grave frequently….And as well as my sister-in-law's. But, today I'd did everything, so you shouldn't cry over your flowers."

Rosema wiped away her tears and pretended that she did not cry. Realizing her actions, the young boy smiled. "Does it pain you that much to see your flowers ruined?"

"….No…It's nothing….But I ought to visit their graves before returning to Soave Maine."

"….I will not stop you, then, but I'm glad you had stopped crying." The young boy pulled her up and handed her flowers back. Rosema accepted it and remained wordless. He departed from her, but stopped after a few steps.

"…..I know you love my brother a lot," he began in a hesitating voice. "But, he's already gone…..And where he is now….Is where he can be happy with Corine."

Rosema could not find a word to say to him. She did not try to face him. At last she spoke in a very low voice. "….I'm sorry, Reece." He only returned a chuckle and throw his open hand in the air to bid her farewell. His footsteps distanced away as she too walked toward the cemetery.

"Sorry it took awhile for me," Reece apologized as he reached a silver-haired man holding out a sack bag. He took it openly and slung it across his back. "Shall we go?"

The rugged, tall, muscular lad smirked and slid a cigarette between his lips. He inhaled a wistful of smoke and puffed it out. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked in a deep rough voice.

"You talk too much," Reece retorted. "If we miss the ride, I swear I'm going to wipe that awful smirk off your face." He trotted away. The lofty lad laughed it off and followed him.

"Syd, are you doing all right?" Darold questioned after knocking on the door. He did not expect an answer. "If you are in there, I just wanted you to know that in the next two days will be the ceremony….. It will be great if you can come…..You remember Frey Hobley? He will be there as well!" Darold's voice died down after hearing Syd's silence.

He sighed. "Well, I just wanted to check up on you and hopefully you will attend this occasion. You know it will mean a lot to me." Darold sighed again and started for the carriage until Syd's voice interrupted him.

"….Darold," Syd stopped as he sat near the fireplace. He answered his brother immediately and came back to the door. Darold waited for Syd to continue.

"….By any chance," Syd resumed tentatively. "Does the name Larick Chadkirk sound familiar to you?"

Darold stared at the door for a moment and finally answered. "No, I've never heard that name before. Why are you asking me? Who is he?"

Syd rubbed his chin, deep in thoughts and then leaned back into his armchair. Then, a smile formed on his face as he said, "No...I'm just curious who this Larick Chadkirk is."

Lights beamed bright and high through the windows of the big, tall, pallid house of Soave Maine. Sounds of the viola and the violin and the piano brought music to the house that stood alone in the rural region of Paris, with green grass that kissed the dimmed moonlight and trees that shadowed behind the house. Vines crawled onto the white walls and flora implanted itself at the base of the house.

One could not imagine how massive Soave Maine was until the invited guests exited their carriages and studied the building that was three levels high and long. Some wished to visit the upper levels, hoping to get a chance to stand on the balconies and view the entire field of what the Richmans possessed. But, when they soon learned that it was prohibited for them to enter the family rooms and the towers, they called the Richmans selfish and quickly tittle-tattled of the Richmans. The younger ones began whispering the tale of how the Richmans were not merry and that was why a party was unusual.

Their rumors ceased upon entering the drawing room. They were charmed by the elegancy of the home of the Richman. It was a home made up of sleek, pasty white marble floors and tall columns that paralleled alongside with the pallid walls. Chinas and vases of summer flowers were neatly placed on the mantelpiece of the fireplace. A single wall of mirror bordered the walkway and the dance floor. Tables of silver teapots and dishes of summer fruits were put in the opening for the guests.

Some wanted to climb the Florentine stairs that coiled upward to the bedchambers and other rooms like the library. Instead, they remained on the highest steps, busied themselves with a conversation, but sneak a peek at any room they can. Some find it odd that a family of great fashion did not have much portraits of themselves, but few portraits of the passed masters.

Everyone knew that Soave Maine was a little different than other Victorian homes. It was more like a mansion, built and made especially for those who carried the Richman blood. It was a house of age.

Among those who were enchanted by the beauty of Soave Maine, were those who remained at the dance floor. Men in evening suits waited patiently and searched the room for a suitable dance partners while the young gentlewomen flittered their feathery fans continuously, hoping to be ask for a dance soon.

At the foot of the staircase, Darold and Frey Hobley chatted happily together. It wasn't long until Darold insisted Frey to dance since he had not yet ask anyone. He did not hesitate and then asked the nearby lass for the next round.

His first dance turned into a several more with the others. However, when he approached another lass for the next song, he became distracted as he glanced at the reflection in the mirror wall. Frey quickly turned his full body to search the staircases. He wasn't even sure what exactly was he searching for until he found himself watching the young lass in the cerulean tier gown awkwardly descending from each steps. Frey remained unmoved as he watched her from the dance floor while the other dancers began to the introduction of the song. He followed her every movements, from her clutching tightly on her skirt and then her breathing nervously through the small opening of her red lips. He stared at her fluttering eyelashes, down the nape of her bare neck, and then the curls of her russet hair that fell down to her small waist. When she surprisingly smiled to the awaiting Darold, Frey suddenly felt his heartbeat trembled tremendously.

He did not feel himself breathing nor did he blink away from her. The strange feelings disappeared as fast as it came when a pair of dancers accidentally stepped onto his feet. They apologized to him, but he could almost not hear them as he pushed his spectacles upper. Frey soon realized that he was standing like a fool in the middle of the dance floor. At last, he walked away toward the nearby lass.

From the far corner of the walkway, hidden from the others, Syd leaned against one of the tall column. He drenched himself with the glasses of champagne, bothered by his thoughts. He searched the room for Darold and upon seeing Mr. Richman, Syd tipped the glass for another sip. But, when he saw the lass in cerulean blushing from afar, he could not move his eyes away from her. He stared at her for a very long time, even after Darold led her to the dance floor, making him forgot about the glass that was still pressed against his lips. Syd just watched her, spying on her. When she turned toward his way, Syd became conscious of his actions and then grew disgusted from the sight of her.

He forcefully gulped the whole glass of champagne and then noticed Mrs. Abbot walking toward the kitchen. He glanced across the room and then followed her.

They continued to the scullery and when he was sure that no one will take notice of them, he called her. She jumped and dropped the dishes; luckily, into the washer.

"I would die of a heart attack, do you not know?" she cried out of relieve, but fell silenced when she saw Syd standing there.

"I have something I wanted to ask you," he began in a husky voice.

Mrs. Abbot chuckled and picked up her fallen dishes. "What is it that you wanted to ask me, child."

"Do you know the name Larick Chadkirk…Or Corine Dikes?"

"Acquaintances of yours?"

"Answer me properly," Syd returned impatiently. Mrs. Abbot sighed and shook her head.

"Even if I pass them, I won't know who they are." Syd did not say more. He looked at her as if she was not being honest with him. After a few seconds, Syd turned with a humph and went out the door. Mrs. Abbot continued with her dishes and spoke lowly to herself. "What of them matters to you?"

When she finally escaped from the house, Rosema gasped for air . She did not want to be in there; she did not want to be dressed elegantly and dancing like gentlewomen. If it wasn't for the sake of the Richmans and pleasing Angeline's request, she would have remained in the kitchen. She made her way toward the white bench facing the woods. She sat down and stared at the shadows of the trees.

She recalled Mr. Richman's speech a moment ago, announcing that he'll fully give Darold the business once he turn 25. A strange speech, she thought. But, her spirit became livelier when Darold publicly pronounced Angeline as his fiancée.

She wasn't through with thinking when a sudden voice surprised her and she quickly recognized the lad in the blue overcoat. He quickly asked for her invitation and sat alongside with her.

It was awkward for them, of course. A pair of complete strangers, yet known by an incidental event sitting together on a bench.

Rosema thought they would remain in silence forever until he cleared his throat loudly. "Is your arm better now?" She hesitated to answer, but nodded. He promptly smiled. "I was afraid you may not get well soon enough for the ceremony. But, it's a pleasure to hear you're doing fine."

"I-I wanted to thank you….Mr. Hobley..For saving me." She was, of course, lost for words. "If there's a-anything at all, I will gladly repay my debt to you."

"Call me Frey. I'm not quite a master yet, so being addressed by my surname really aged me."

"I'm sorry," Rosema apologized pathetically. He returned a chuckle.

"You like sceneries?" Rosema raised her head in astonishment. She clutched her hands together.

"It put my mind at ease ."

"I thought so, seeing that you preferred being alone out here than dancing. Isn't that a little unsafe for a woman?" Rosema did not answer him. She had little to defend that fact. She was about to change the subject when he took her gloved hand and powerfully pulled her away from the bench. Her face landed on his chest and then she quickly withdrew herself from him, but could not loosen his grip. He gazed at her, refusing to look away.

"For the rest of the night, dance with me," Frey required, keeping his grip firm. The atmosphere suddenly thickened. "Dance with me and I will consider your debt paid." She gulped and then agreed.

That night, they danced at the back of the house as they listened to the melodies through the windows. It was, indeed, a very long dance for Rosema.

"Is it all right if I wonder off for a bit, Mrs. Abbot?" Rosema asked once they exited the carriage and into the crowded market streets. "I wanted to pay a visit to this place."

"And what place is that?" Mrs. Abbot patted her basket and observed the nearby booth. "Oh, how much is this?"

"Please, Mrs. Abbot."

She sighed and turned away from the approaching owner of the booth. She gawked at Rosema and rested her hand on her hip. "Make sure to come back in an hour. If Mr. Hagon discover that I left you off somewhere, he will certainly tell the masters. Okay?" Rosema grinned and thanked her. Quickly, she disappeared into the crowd of women with baskets, children tailing behind them and men smelled of ale chatting sluggishly.

As she turned her head to observe a nearby booth, she bumped into someone. Rosema apologized repeatedly and tried to pick up his fruits until he called, "Miss Rosema?"

She looked up from the ground and realized it was an old, balding man with white hair circling his head. "Mr. Gibson?" She straightened herself to stand, recognizing the grave keeper.

"How are you?" the short, old man exclaimed and shook her hands continuously. "I haven't seen you for weeks!" She answered him with a forged laugh, but his excitement suddenly died down.

"I must tell you right away!"

Rosema pulled back in confusion. "What must you tell me?" He seemed a little afraid as he bend down to pick up the last of his red apple on the grubby ground. Then, sweat run fast down his balding head. He wiped it hurriedly and rubbed his eyes, trying hard to complete his words.

"Last night," his voice was awfully shaking. "L-last night…Larick's grave….Someone….S-Someone stole his body!"


	4. Chapter 4 part 1: Contagion

**Chapter Four **

**Contagion**

The narrow walkway of the city was a complete slump to him. He didn't want to remain in these streets any longer that were filled with pick pocketing kids and men who easily dictated weak, rich boys. He became disgusted at the sight of prostitutes who waited in the dark alley, inviting men as they exposed their slender legs and sliding their gown a little off to show their bare shoulders. It wasn't something he wasn't used to seeing. He was sick to see how poorly humans acted.

A goldilock lass pressed herself to him and hissed, "For a pound, I will be yours for the night." She was heartily attractive with a small, visible mole beneath her left eye. The young lad felt her slender fingers massaging his shoulders and as she thought she achieved in seducing him, he returned a mocking snort. He pushed her away aggressively against the dark brick walls.

"For a pound, get yourself something suitable to wear." He walked away hardheartedly as she cursed and threw fists at him. For hell does he care. He was already in a bad mood for days. The least he needed was to get touch by a street whore.

He made his way toward the bridge that arched toward the next parish, hoping to get away from all the nuisance. When he thought he was finally at peace, the young lad stopped at the middle of the bridge, and rested his outstretched arms on the slate, brick rails.

He gazed at the distant townhouses and down the stream of water. Suddenly, the night of the party invaded his thoughts. He was actually content that _Mr. Richman_ addressed Darold as the next heir. However, what he was most unpleased with was how _Mrs. Richman _referred to that despicable fiend as their daughter. It wasn't as if he meant to eavesdrop as he made his way out of the manor. Was it because he came to the ceremony uninvited by both the old master and his wife that she purposely said it out loud to hurt his ears?

He clenched his teeth as Rosema reappeared in his mind. He regretted not killing her. For years, he hated her. He wanted nothing more than to have her completely vanish. He could've finished her off that night when he choked her. But, if she had fought against him, he would have been more excited to watch her until her last breath. Yet, he knew very well that it wasn't because of that reason.

He recalled watching her as tears seeped from the corners of her eyes and her powerless voice piecing the name Larick together. At that very moment, his strength left him completely.

It was as if it sent him back to fifteen years ago. A very vague memory when he crouched at the farthest corner of a moving carriage. He had watched them carried in a helpless child as she shivered from the winter frost. He thought having a family was never needed in the world, but as the carriage pulled away, she called in the smallest voice, begging for her father.

Since their visit to the market, Mrs. Abbot thought Rosema's been acting strangely. Occasionally, she would do something and then forget what she was supposed to do. Sometimes, her long silence deafened her ears that she would not hear if one call her. She dropped things frequently and often sleep during her bath time.

She was just a maidservant, worrying about this young lass who always seemed discontented with the luxurious life that was miraculously given to her. But, after her failed attempts, she decided not to say more if Rosema was not willing to talk about it.

Instead, she busied herself with drying the laundries and when Rosema insisted on helping, they started a conversation like usual.

"Are you not excited for our special guest? Darold said starting tonight, he will be lodging here in Soave Maine." Mrs. Abbot began. Rosema forced a chuckle.

"I am as excited as when you promised to tell me a great story," Rosema glanced at Mrs. Abbot with a smile. She returned a laughable groan.

"Rosema, Rosema, Rosema. I've told you a million stories already. Why don't you let it pass this time?"

"But you promise, Mrs. Abbot. I've been looking forward to it. No one can tell greater stories than you!" Rosema began pestering the old lady as she continued ignoring her request.

"Oh! We're short on pins!" Mrs. Abbot exclaimed when Rosema tried to pin the thin sheet onto the clothesline. "Let me go get some more." Rosema chuckled and told her not to take too long.

Shortly after Mrs. Abbot disappeared into the house, Rosema sighed of relief as she dropped her hands from clutching the clothesline. The dripping water from the wet laundries thwacked loudly against the yellowing grass as she smelled the sweet, autumn air. She gaped closely at the fluttering, white sheets. Rosema fought hard against her tears as she hugged the wet sheet in her hands.

But, when a silhouette of a man appeared on the opposite side of the white sheet that hung from the clothesline, Rosema pretended to be occupy. She hoped he did not find out about her crying as she hurriedly glanced toward him. However, upon seeing his face briefly through the flapping sheets, her body became numb.

He watched her sternly as she too will not look away. She made her way toward him, wanting to touch him, and wanting to call him. But when she blinked her eyes once, he disappeared.

Rosema stopped midway. It was her mind playing tricks again. She slumped back. There was no way a man can ever come back alive twice. As she heard Mrs. Abbot approaching, Rosema made her way back to the basket of laundries.

The old lady laughed. "Dear, we may not have to prepare a big feast after all." Rosema was confused by her statement. "Darold just told me that our special guest will be late for dinner. He may come the morning after."

Two long hours after the lights in Soave Maine were shut, Rosema peered outside of her open window. For countless nights, she had stared outside, torn between her commitment for the Richmans or retrieving Larick's body wherever it is. If she leave now, it all mean betraying her saviors who put in so much to give her a new life. But, leaving without a word seemed to be the only possible way to keep her promise to Larick alive. She sighed again, suddenly feeling the urge to visit the garden once more before it completely become bare.

Her urge brought back the memories of Syd choking her. She didn't even know what happened to him after the wolves' attack. She was so sure that if the wolves never attack, if Frey never show up, then she would have successfully die. She breathed hard once more before drifting to sleep upon the window sill.

Not long after she fell asleep, Rosema awoke to a sudden movement to her body. When she opened her eyes fully, she felt a body hovering over her. She let out a yelp, but was stopped by a hand slapping against her mouth. She tried to make out who it was, but was answered by the familiar smirk on his face. Her eyes shot wide open, realizing the figure was Syd. She was no longer on the window sill, but was pinned down on the floor. He had her already locked with his knees pressing against her arms and one hand clutching tightly on her neck. He snickered violently.

"You honestly thought that I let you off easily?" he droned lowly and drew himself closed to her terrified face. She struggled to get free as he tightened his grip. "Well, you thought wrong, you adulterous bitch!" She squirmed, confused by his accusation. She was afraid of him, always had ever since he first greeted her with his cold eyes and violent behavior. Perhaps, she was somewhat relieved that he confronted her in the dark with his hair falling all over his face. That way, it wouldn't hurt her to see a man who resembled her first love.

Since his imprecise declaration of hatred toward her, she knew that he also blamed her for everything. But, she wasn't ready to die yet. Not until she retrieve Larick's body. As much as her desperation to die, she was desperate to escape just this once from Syd who was already capable of murdering her. However, she was never prepare to hear the next part of his sentence when he smirked and said, "Or should I let you see who I dug up before you die?"


End file.
